


Ties That Bind

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A theory about why both Sam and Dean wear leather bracelets.  Written during season one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Dad, we need to check this out!"

Dad sat down heavily on the end of one of the beds in the dingy hotel room. "We're already on a job, Sam. We can't just abandon it to run off to another."

"But Dad -"

"I said no, Sam. After we get rid of the poltergeist, then we can go check out these reports."

For the first time since the argument started, Dean spoke up from the other bed. "Why don't Sam and I go, Dad? I'm twenty - isn't it time that we get some practice on our own?"

Sam turned to look at their father, hope in his face. He started to shake his head no, but then looked at their faces and sighed, rubbing his neck. "I guess maybe it is."

"Yeah!" Sam cried, pumping his fist in the air.

Dad held out his hand. "Whoa, wait just a second. I'm only going to let you do this if you promise to stay together and keep in contact with me constantly. Constantly, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said, sitting up and reaching for his t-shirt. It only took a few minutes to pack up the gear that they'd need, but by the time Dad had finished going over everything about protecting themselves from angry spirits and finding their bones to destroy them, half the night had passed.

"Maybe you should just stay here tonight and leave in the morning."

"Oh, come on, Dad. We'll be fine. We have our phone, and we know exactly where we're going. You've even called and found us a motel room. We've only got about a five hour drive, and we're going to go there first before we try to tackle this thing."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dad nodded. "Okay. Be safe."

Dean nodded and grabbed Sam by the scruff of his t-shirt before he could say something that might change Dad's mind, dragging him out the door. "We'll call you when we get to the motel, Dad. Talk to you then."

He could see Dad in the rear view mirror as he pulled away from the motel. He was still there as the building disappeared from view.

***

Sam was bouncing around like tigger on crack in the passenger seat, excited about their first hunting trip without Dad. For a while, Dean just laughed at him, but his excitement was infectious and pretty soon AC/DC was kicking on the stereo and both boys were singing along at the top of their lungs.

Time and miles passed quickly, but there's a limit to even a sixteen year old's energy, and Sam drifted off to sleep in the passenger seat of the car. Dean turned down the radio and hummed along with Motorhead.

They pulled up in front of the motel as the sun came up. Before Dean even woke Sam, he called Dad, who answered on the first ring. "Dean? You boys okay?"

"Geeze, dad. We're fine. We just got to the motel and I'm going to go check us in and then we're going to grab some sleep. We'll call you before go out of the motel, okay?"

"Just... be careful, Dean."

"Yes, sir."

Disconnecting the call, he leaned over and shook Sam's shoulder. "Sam. Sammy. We're here."

Sam started awake and looked around like he was trying to figure out where they were. "What? Dean? Oh, we're at the motel."

"Yeah. Let me just go check in and we'll catch a few hours sleep before we go and see what we can find, okay?"

Stretching, Sam nodded and popped the door open on his side, holding out his hand for Dean's keys. He handed them over and then headed inside to the front desk.

Dad was as good as his word, and the motel had a room in the name "Dean Samuels," which made Dean smile. Handing over his credit card, he paid for the room and took the key. Going back out to the car, he found Sam leaning against the trunk, duffel bag in hand.

Dean didn't say anything, just headed towards the stairs. Sam fell in behind him; quiet in a way that told him he was still half asleep. There was only one bed in the room, but that didn't bother either of them - they'd shared beds in hotel rooms most of their lives.

By the time Dean had unpacked the necessities and kicked off his shoes and jeans, Sam was already asleep on his side of the bed. _At least this time he got his shoes off before he went to sleep_ Dean thought to himself, chuckling.

Lying down on the other side, he closed his eyes and relaxed as much as he could. He honestly thought that he and Sam could handle this on their own, but he had to admit he was a little nervous about it. Finally, he managed to drift off to sleep to the sound of Sam snoring.

***

It was late afternoon when they both woke, and after showering and changing clothes, they headed to the local library. Thankfully, this one was hooked up with the 'net, and they were able to access local records pretty easily.

The best bet for the ghost haunting the local theater seemed to be a young man named Keith who had committed suicide on the stage some twenty years earlier. The question was why he'd suddenly become much more active, and Sam found the answer to that in the local paper, with its article on how the theater had been bought and was going to be torn down in six months' time.

"That's probably what's pissing him off, then. He's getting ready to lose the spot that he haunts." Dean leaned back in the chair and stretched his back out, stiff from having sat in one spot for so long.

"Yep," Sam said, and then flipped to another page in the paper. "It looks like these 'accidents' are getting worse, too. More aggressive, more violent. Only a matter of time before someone dies."

Dean nodded. "Looks like it's time to go check out the theater."

***

Armed with directions, flashlights, salt, and holy water, the two of them went to the Baker theater. It was Monday, so it was closed for the day, but it only took Sam a few moments with a piece of wire to pick the lock.

"Man, I wish I could get feel for that," Dean said, watching enviously. "Credit cards I can do, but anything with tumblers? Forget it."

Sam laughed, and stood back up as the door clicked open. Dean motioned Sam to get behind him, and carefully stepped inside. The inside was dark, the only light coming from a few high windows and the glowing exit signs.

Stepping carefully over coiled ropes and pieces of set, they explored the backstage. Dean pulled out an EMF that Dad had given them, and it promptly lit up. "Yep, there's something here all right. We just need to find it."

Sam was showing a little bit more caution now. "Why? We know it's here, we know who it is. Shouldn't we be finding out where his body is buried?"

"I want to get a look at him if we can. Make sure he matches up with the picture we found."

"Okay, but if it kills you, I'm taking your car."

"You can't handle my car, you prick. Now shut up and keep your eyes open."

The two of them cautiously explored the area behind the stage, but other than the occasional creepy sound that could be chalked up to being in an old building, they didn't find anything.

When they went on stage, though, it was completely different. The EMF lit up off the scale, and Sam pointed at... something. "Did you see that?"

Dean peered into the darkness. "No, I didn't - what did you see?"

"Something's moving over there," Sam said, pointing into the wing just off the stage. Without waiting for Dean, he started to move in that direction only to turn at Dean's sudden cry.

By the time he had turned around, Dean was hanging upside down over the stage, a rope tangled around his ankle. "Dean!"

"Get me down, Sammy!"

Sam ran towards Dean, pulling the knife from the sheath on his belt as he moved. Thanking god that he was catching up to Dean in height, he sawed at the rope, only to be knocked off his feet by a blow from an unseen opponent. "Sammy!"

He was being dragged across the floor, away from Dean. "Dean, it's got me!"

"Let him go, you bitch!" Dean was frantically lunging upward, trying to get his hands on the rope around his ankle, but every time he started to get his fingers on it, they slipped, and he hung low again. Blood was rushing to his head, making him dizzy.

Suddenly, Sam was there, sawing frantically at the rope again. "What? How?"

"I threw salt at it and it let me go. Just... let... me...There!" With that, Dean felt the rope jerk, and turning the fall into a controlled tumble, he rolled back up to his feet.

"Well, that answers that. Let's get out of here!"

Sam didn't argue, heading right for the door.

As they slipped through it, the door slammed behind them and they both heard the bolt get thrown. "Well, that wasn't much fun." Dean said, and Sam smiled weakly.

"No, not really. It's too late now to go back to the library, so you have any ideas of how we could find that kid's grave?"

Dean shrugged. "Nope. The obit didn't give a location for the burial. But in a town this size there can't be that many graveyards. We could go take a look."

"To be honest, Dean, I'm not thrilled with doing that... Wait a second. Wasn't the kid survived by a sister?"

"Yeah, Kathy something or other. Should we go look her up?"

"That's an idea."

***

The obit listed the sister's name as Kathy Taylor, and the phone book showed only a K. Taylor. Taking a chance that they were one and the same, and that she'd be willing to answer the door at nine o'clock at night, they headed to the address given.

K was Kathy, and she was willing to talk to the reporter from Chicago who was doing an article on the old theater. "I'm sorry to bring up bad memories, Ms. Taylor, but did you ever know why Keith committed suicide?"

"Kathy, please, and honestly? I never knew. He and my father fought about his participating in the theater, and he was upset, but I didn't think he was _that_ upset. He'd been cast the lead role in a play, and dad insisted that he turn it down - he expected Keith to leave for college right away."

"I heard him on the phone later that day, fighting with someone. I thought it might have been his director, Sean Johnston, but before I could ask what was wrong, he'd left the house. That was the last time I ever saw him. Two days later he was dead."

Dean nodded. "Just out of curiosity, where was Keith buried?"

"At the Golden Gates cemetery. Why?"

"No reason. Like I said, curiosity. Occupational hazard for reporters, I think." He gave her a quick smile. "Thanks for all your help, Kathy. I'm sorry that I disturbed you so late, and I need to get back to Chicago. Have a good evening."

She smiled and escorted him to the door.

Back in the car, he smiled and waved, and as he turned to look over his shoulder to back out of her driveway, he said to Sam, "So, I have the name of the cemetery. Wanna go get this done tonight?"

"Yeah, I think we should. Dad's gonna freak if we take too long."

"True. So, Golden Gate, here we come."

Once they were out of sight of Kathy's house, Sam slithered over the seat and settled into the passenger side. A few short turns later, and they pulled into the dark cemetery. Dean pulled all the way to the back, and the two of them look over the expanse of neat grass. There must have been hundreds of graves, if not thousands.

They got out of the car, and Dean forgot to hide the limp. "Well, crap. Maybe waiting till morning to find it wouldn't be a bad idea," Sam said, studying the way that Dean was moving.

Crouching on one knee, Dean massaged his sore leg. Just looking at the number of graves was making him tired, and then add digging it up... "Yeah, you might be right."

The two of them climbed back into the car and headed to the all night diner next door to the hotel. One thing that was true for both of them is that they were always hungry, and this diner was a good one - lots of food for not too much money. When they were both pleasantly stuffed, they headed back to the room.

When they got in, Dean sank onto the bed with a sigh. Before he could kick his shoes off, Sam was crouched in front of him, untying the shoe on the injured foot and sliding it off. Shoving up the leg of Dean's jeans, he examined the rope burns left on his ankle.

"How the hell have you been walking, Dean? These look bad."

Dean winced at the gentle touch. "It doesn't hurt too bad to walk, but yeah, they don't look real good, do they? The first aid kit is in the duffel."

While Sam dug the kit out of the bag, Dean took off his other shoe and dropped his jeans. When Sam turned back to face him, he looked like someone had just hit him in the back of the head with a two by four. "Sam?"

"I'm okay... just, damn. You know what that does to me."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I do. I'm hoping that we might take advantage of the extra privacy."

Sam's smile matched Dean's. "Oh, yeah. But let's take care of that leg first, okay?"

Scooting back on the bed, Dean winced as the burns rubbed against the blanket. "Uh, yeah. Good idea, Sammy."

Growling at the hated nickname, Sam cleaned the rope burns gently. Smoothing antiseptic lotion over them, he wrapped them in clean gauze and taped it in place. Without moving away, he laid a gentle kiss over the gauze and then smiled up at Dean. "Better?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Oh, yeah." Then he just clamped his mouth shut, hoping that this would be one of those rare times when Sam would be the aggressive one.

As if Sam could read his mind, he bent back to Dean's leg, kissing him softly at his knee, and then again on his thigh. Mutely, Dean spread his legs, and Sam bit softly on his inner thigh, as if for a reward.

Groaning, he flopped backwards on the bed. "God, that feels good, Sammy." Then he yelped as Sam bit him even harder, high up on his leg. "Sorry, _Sam_."

Hands slid under his ass, tugging on his shorts. Lifting his hips, he helped Sam push them down and out of the way and then relaxed back down, letting Sam move and touch him however he wanted.

What he seemed to want is to drive him mad. Sam drew tiny soft patterns on Dean's skin with both hands and lips, on his thighs and hips and stomach. Dean groaned again, arching up into the touch, trying to get more of it.

"Feels so good, bro... Please, don't stop..."

"I won't," Sam murmured into his skin. Then Dean stopped thinking, stopped hearing, as Sam moved in even closer, breathing warm moist air onto his nuts and the root of his cock. And when he dragged his tongue over the seam of his balls, he whimpered.

Sam's hands settled onto his hips, holding him down gently as he gave his sac a thorough tongue bath. Then his hands slid down, urging him to the edge of the bed and he ducked lower, his tongue slipping further down and back to Dean's entrance.

Dean did the only thing he could - pulling his legs up and back so that Sam had unfettered access to his hole. Broken words of encouragement spilled from his lips, trying to get Sam to move faster, deeper, but he was ignored as Sam teased around the very edge of his entrance.

Finally, _finally_ , Sam slid his tongue into Dean, who locked up at the sensation. He loved being rimmed, but the lack of privacy in their day-to-day lives meant it happened so very rarely, that he was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

Sam seemed just as determined, taking his time and exercising the talents of his tongue to their fullest. By the time he pulled away, Dean was sweating and twisting on the bed, begging with every fiber of his being. Sam's head popped up, and he licked his lips. "Can I fuck you?"

Dean nodded so hard he thought his head might fall off. "Yeah, right now would be good. Please? Hard and right the fuck now," he babbled.

Standing up, Sam stripped off his clothes and went back to the bag to fetch out supplies. Dean took the time to practically rip off his t-shirt, then laid back and watched Sam just _move_.

He'd lost the chubbiness of youth, and now was long muscle and sinew stretched over bone. He moved with a grace that came from years of martial arts and fighting, and Dean thought he could just watch him forever. Then he turned around, revealing a hard, long, thick cock, and Dean felt his mouth water. "Oh, god."

He smiled and prowled across the floor, dropping the slick on the bed next to Dean's hip. Crawling up on the bed, he bent down and kissed him deeply, leaving Dean panting and arching off the bed.

As he continued to kiss Dean, Sam flipped open the slick and poured a small puddle on his stomach. Dean gasped at the cold, and then as one finger slid inside him with no preliminaries he gripped the covers and lifted his hips, trying to get more of that good touch.

Almost immediately, the finger slid back out, and then Sam was dipping two into the pool. As both stretched him Dean panted, pulling away from Sam's mouth so that he could look into his eyes, searching for any fear or reluctance.

He saw only lust, though, and he had to close his own. "Please, Sam. I need you."

There was silence for a moment, and then a gasp, as though Sam had forgotten to breathe for a moment. Dean could feel Sam moving. Then Sam slid between his legs and lifted one over his shoulder. With no preliminaries, he lined up his cock and started to press it home.

Dean groaned. It felt so good, and as Sam started to move inside of him he made no effort to hide how much he was enjoying it. Instead, he lifted his chin, mutely begging for a kiss, and moaning into Sam's mouth when he got it.

Sam's slick hand circled his cock, and he couldn't help the whimper that broke from his lips as he was touched and filled at the same time. And when Sam tightened his hand, he sobbed and came, followed in moments by Sam.

They collapsed into a tangle of limbs, trying to catch their breaths. Slowly, they came down, and Dean realized that they were pretty much stuck together. "Oh, gross. Get a washcloth, would you, Sammy?"

Sam punched him in the shoulder, but rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom, coming back with a wet cloth that he used to wipe Dean off with, throwing it on the floor when he was done. Together, they struggled under the covers and were both asleep within moments.

***

Much, much later, Dean shivered in his sleep. He tried to roll closer to Sam, but woke with a start when he couldn't move. He tried to call Sam's name, but he was even more panicked when he couldn't speak.

From next to him, he heard a small sound that told him that Sam was awake and struggling against the same compunctions that he was feeling. Focusing, he managed to force his eyes open, only to see the most terrifying thing in his life. One of their guns was floating over the bed, aimed right at Sam's head.

From somewhere, he managed to summon the strength to fight whatever was holding him still, and as the trigger started to squeeze down, he brought up his arm, hitting the gun so that it pointed at the outer wall just as it fired.

The window shattered and the gun dropped onto the bed. Whatever force had been holding them down disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the smell of sulphur and gunpowder.

"Sam! Sammy! Come on - we gotta go!"

Both of them rolled out of bed and hurriedly dressed, cramming things into the duffel as fast as they could. They got to the car and had just pulled out of the parking lot as the first cop pulled in.

***

"No, Dad, we're not coming back. We know who it is, we just need -"

"Dad, we can do this. Neither of us were hurt, and we can solve this today. Please -"

"Okay. Okay, here's Dean."

"Dean, you and your brother are to come down here right now, do you hear me?"

Dean fought to stay calm. Someone had to, and it obviously wasn't going to be Sam _or_ Dad. "Dad, we're okay. It's almost daylight, and then we can find the guy's grave. As soon as it's dark, we'll dig him up and torch his bones, and this'll be over."

Dad heaved a sigh. "I do not like this, Dean."

"I know, but it's kind of silly for us to drive five hours down to you just to turn around and come back. And in the meantime it might go from accidents to someone dying."

There was silence on the other end of the phone line, and then another sigh. "Okay, you're right. But you two be careful, okay?"

"Will do, Dad. And thanks for worrying about us."

Dean hung up the phone and handed it back to his brother. Driving carefully to avoid attracting attention, he headed back to the cemetery. "Okay, I'll drop you at the front and I'll start in the back. We're looking for the name Keith Taylor, remember."

Sam nodded. Dean dropped him off and then pulled to the back. Parking, he got out and started pacing the rows of graves. He had covered maybe a quarter of the distance to the front gate when Sam came jogging up. "Found it."

"Show me."

Together, they jogged back to the grave and Dean marked several landmarks to let them find it again that night. As they started back to the car, he noticed something. "Wait a minute, Sam. Did I tell you the name of the director of the play that Keith was in?"

"Sean something, wasn't it?"

"Johnston, I think." He pointed at the grave next to Keith was in. "Look at that date."

"It's only a few days after Keith's. So?"

"Just makes you think, doesn't it?" Something about it was nagging at the back of Dean's brain, but he wasn't sure what it was.

"Huh, weird."

"Yeah, weird."

They jogged back to the car, and decided that since they had the daylight to kill that they'd find a library to hang out in, doing research for their next job while they waited.

***

As the sun set, they went back to their car. Dinner was first on the agenda, and they went back to the diner from the night before. Another big meal, and they were ready to tackle digging up Keith's body.

Dean killed the lights on the Impala as they pulled into the cemetery. Parking as close to the grave as they could, they pulled the bag of supplies out of the trunk and went to Keith's grave.

Digging seemed to take forever. This was a professional grave, which meant at least six feet, and they were both sweating and panting long before they got to that point. When the shovels hit the casket, though, a sense of relief washed through them. It was almost over.

Opening the casket was seriously gross, and both of them were gagging and green from the smell as they covered the bones in rock salt and lighter fluid. Jumping out of the grave, they dropped a lit fireplace match and watched as the bones were turned to ash.

Filling in the grave took a lot less time, and then they hightailed it back to the car. They both wanted nothing more than a shower, but just as they were talking about trying to find another motel to rent a room long enough to clean up and nap, a huge convoy of fire trucks went by, sirens wailing.

Dean looked at Sam, and with no discussion they followed the emergency vehicles, which were pulling up in front of the theater. Flames were billowing out of the windows, and a huge crowd of people was gathered across the street. As they parked and got out, the wind kicked up, and lightning crackled in the sky. "Dean, look!"

Sam was pointing at a figure at one of the upper windows, and as they watched they saw him fold his arms and glare at them. No one else seemed to notice, however.

"This isn't good, Sam. Why isn't he gone?"

"Dean, I don't think that was Keith, I think that was the director. Keith was your age, right? That man was at least forty, if not older."

"Aw, shit."

They climbed back into the car and stared at each other. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean finally said.

"That we need to go burn Sean's bones. Yeah."

Dean sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that." He put the car into gear and headed back to the cemetery. As they drove, the wind started to pick up, to the point that by the time they pulled into the graveyard, they had to bend into the wind to make any headway.

Digging up the second grave was even worse than the first, if that was possible. The lightning had presaged a thunderstorm, and the dirt washed back into the grave almost as fast as they could toss it out. Every shovel full seemed like it weighed tons, and the wind cut right through their clothes, freezing them to the bone.

Finally, though, there was the hollow clank of the shovels hitting wood, and Dean started to pry it open. As it creaked and protested, lightning hit the tree next to the graves, leaving it burning. As the orange light flickered in the pouring rain, Sam doused the body in salt and lighter fluid.

"Getting this to catch is going to be a bitch, dude."

Sam looked from the hole in the ground to the tree that was burning. "No, it's not." He walked over and picked up a branch off the ground and held it into the fire. Once it had caught, he carried it over and dropped it into the hole.

The wind picked up, knocking him over, and nearly pushing Dean to the ground as well. But as the bones caught fire and turned to ash, gradually the storm let up. Sam stood up, and looked at Dean. "I think that it's really gone now. What about you?"

Dean nodded. "I think so too." Then he surveyed the two of them. "God, we're a mess, and I'm exhausted. I think we're going to have to stay one more night. Dad is going to have a cow."

Sam snorted. "You get to tell him."

***

As predicted, Dad had had a cow, complete with horns and udder, but he'd agreed that they should stop. Dean found a motel that would let them stay, even looking like they'd been dragged face first through a mud puddle.

Soon as they got into the room, Sam called dibs on the shower, but Dean grinned and followed him into the bathroom. "I don't see any reason we can't share it, do you?"

Sam blushed, and shook his head. Both of them stripped down, and climbed gratefully under the hot water. Taking turns, they washed all of the mud and dirt off, and then Dean smiled and slid to his knees.

"Oh, hell," Sam muttered and grabbed hold of the bar on the wall as his knees wavered.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked, but before Sam could answer he sucked his cock into his mouth. Sam cursed again, running his other hand into Dean's hair.

Unlike the night before, this was fast and furious, Dean finally letting his fear show through what he was doing, leaving Sam shaking and gasping.

When he was hard, Dean rose to his feet and reached out to the counter, grabbing the bottle of lotion on the counter. Spinning Sam to face the wall of the shower, he slicked up his cock and then slid one finger inside of him. "Do you want me to stop, Sam? Tell me now."

Sam pressed back into his hand. "Just shut up and fuck me, Dean. Right now."

Dean dropped his head to rest between Sam's shoulder blades, taking a deep breath and trying to keep control, but Sam moved again, and it _snapped_. Pulling his finger out, he lined his cock up and pressed in gently.

Burning hot and almost painfully tight, he had to fight to not just slam home. Instead, he slid in slowly, giving Sam time to adjust.

When Sam said, "Now," though, all thought fled, and he started to fuck him deep and hard. Sam was moaning and pushing back into every stroke. It couldn't last long, and it didn't, Dean breaking first and followed almost immediately by Sam.

Pulling out, he and Sam leaned against the wall and breathed heavily for a few minutes. When he was certain he could stay up, he cut the water off and stepped out, drying off and sliding into a t-shirt and boxers and bagging up their filthy clothes.

Both boys stumbled from the bathroom. This room had two beds, and they each flopped down on one. Neither one managed to turn off the light before they were asleep.

***

The next morning, they packed up and got ready to go back to the little town where Dad was waiting for them. But Sam asked for a stop at the library first. "Why? It's over."

"I just want to check a guess."

Shrugging, Dean made the turn into the library parking lot. "One hour. No more."

While Sam went in and looked up whatever it was he wanted to find, Dean went and found a coffee shop. By the time he got back to the library with two large coffees, Sam was waiting outside.

"I think that Keith killed Sean. The day before Keith died, Sean was hospitalized in a coma from a beating. I'm pretty sure that the spirit causing the problems in the theater was Keith, but Sean was being held there as well."

Dean nodded. "Makes as much sense as anything. I wonder why?"

"I think I figured that out, too. I think they were lovers, and when Keith's dad made him leave the play, they fought."

"What makes you say that?"

Sam shrugged. "Just a feeling, I guess. Sean seemed to be pretty powerful as a spirit, so why would he stay with his murderer if he didn't want to?"

"Huh. Could be. Doesn't really matter now - they're both gone."

Sam nodded and drank his own coffee as they got on the road.

***

Halfway back to Dad, Dean suddenly pulled off the road into a little run down shopping center. Sam, who'd been dozing in the passenger seat, jerked and said, "Why are we stopping?"

"I want to run into the leather store."

"Um, okay." Sam stayed in the car as Dean went in. It only took him a minute to find what he was looking for and pay for it, and then he went back out to the car.

Opening the small bag, he pulled out two lengths of leather cord. Holding out one strip, he blushed and stared at the floor. "We saved each others' lives back there. I just want to mark it in some way."

Sam took it and smiled, wrapping it around his right wrist. "Tie it for me?" Dean did, cutting off the extra, then held out the second strip for Sam to do the same for him.

"No matter what, we keep these on, deal?"

Sam smiled. "Deal. Now, are we done with the chick flick?"

"We're done. Prick."

"Bitch."

***

Six years later, and Dean had to break into Sam's apartment just to be certain that he'd talk to him. For a minute, he still wasn't sure, but then he saw the bracelet still on Sam's wrist.

His own had had to be replaced a couple of times, when they got damaged or stained, or just plain too old to hold together, and he was sure that Sam had done the same over the years, but he still wore it, and that was what was important.

It meant that no matter what, they could get through this. Together.


	2. Keeping it Together

As soon as they'd put Emily on the bus, they'd rolled, putting that creepy little town in their review mirror. Neither of them had any urge to stop in Indiana, or indeed anywhere till they'd put as many miles between them and that damn scarecrow as they could.

When they were both too tired to drive any more, they pulled over at a crappy no name motel. The room wasn't much - the carpet was worn shag carpet from the seventies, for christ's sake - and the heat barely worked, but it had beds and a shower and that's all either of them cared about.

By the time Sam made it out of the shower, Dean was already in one of the beds, asleep. His right arm was above the covers, and Sam studied the leather bracelet on it for a long time, fingering his own, before the chill in the air finally drove him to his own bed.

Sleep was slow in coming, and all he could think about was what could have happened had he not come in time. He could have lost his brother, and never known what had happened to him, if he had gotten on that bus. His own stubbornness would have cost him the most important person in his life, and all he could do was thank god that he'd given in to the little voice in his head that demanded he go look for Dean.

He felt like the little warmth in the room was being leeched out, and he turned and curled on his side, trying to warm up. He didn't even realize he was shivering before Dean was behind him, shaking his shoulder. "Shove over, bro. Cold in here."

Sam did as he was told, scooting across the bed. The shock of the cold sheets made him shiver even harder, but then there was blazing heat behind him. Cautiously, he edged back into that heat, only to have Dean snort and wrap a hand around his waist, pulling him up snug.

From shoulders to calves, the heat soaked into him, finally warming him, and he could hear Dean chuckle. "You're too skinny, dude. Cold goes right to your bones. Should find you a girl to feed you up." He laughed along with Dean, though the thought brought pain with it as well. Jess had always said that he was too skinny.

One hand curled under his head, the other resting on Dean's wrist, above the leather, he finally closed his eyes and slept.

***

 _He got to the orchard just in time to see the scythe that the scarecrow carried slice across Dean's throat. He screamed, but the damned thing didn't even look up, just carried up and over Dean's face, ripping the skin off in one move. Dean, oh, god, Dean. He was too late. If he'd just been five minutes earlier..._

"Sam! Sammy! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

Sam startled awake to a world of light, with Dean sitting up in the bed next to him, one hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. You awake?"

"Uh, I think so." The hand left his shoulder, but the heat it left behind radiated through him. "Sorry about that."

"What was it this time? Jessica again?"

"No." Sam sat up in the bed, resting back against the wood headboard. He was still blinking in the harsh light from the bedside lamp, but the pain in his watering eyes was reassuring in its own way. "Just a nightmare."

Dean slid back down in the bed, lying on his side and looking at him. "Need to talk about it?"

Sam smiled. "I thought you didn't go for that chick flick stuff."

"When it comes to your nightmares, I'd rather be a chick then let them carry on for months. So, spill." Dean looked strangely serious.

Sliding down in the bed, rough sheets beneath his skin, he matched Dean look for look. "Seriously. It was no big. Every day garden variety nightmare. No vision, no demon gluing people to the ceiling. Promise."

Dean studied his face for what seemed like forever, then nodded. "Think you can sleep some more?"

Nodding, he sat up to reach past Dean to turn off the light. Dean's hand came up and touched the leather wrapped around his wrist. "Did you ever take this off?"

Clicking the light, Sam settled back, trying to figure out how to answer the question. What could he say to that? _No, but I thought about it? No, but only because I couldn't find a pair of scissors the night I was too drunk to do anything but think about how you and dad let me leave?_ He finally settled on just saying, "Only to replace it."

Smiling, Dean pulled out his own wrist and studied the leather. "Me too. You remember when we started wearing them?"

Sam laughed. "I remember how dirty we got digging up that second body. We looked like mud men."

"Did you - did you ever miss it? How well we used to get along?" There was something... something in Dean's voice. A hitch, and his breathing changed, becoming deeper, faster.

"I didn't miss the hunting." Sam debated leaving it there, but that wouldn't be fair to Dean, nor would it be truthful. He could hear Jess telling him that if he kept it bottled up, it would explode. Just thinking about how much it hurt to walk away from Dean brought back that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Swallowing convulsively, he closed his eyes and added, "But I was lonely for you. It was the first time that the two of us had been apart for more than a day or two and I felt... lost. I cried every night for a week when I first got to Stanford, and if you ever tell anyone **that** I will kick your ass."

Dean shifted a little closer, and Sam followed suit. They were so close that he could feel the moist heat from Dean's breathing, smell the clean sweat from sleeping so close together. Their knees brushed, and Dean bit his lip. "I promise I won't tell anyone else, but I'm gonna give you hell in private and you know it. If I didn't, you'd think I was possessed."

"This is true." Sam was getting hard from being so close, from the memories of the times they were together as kids. It hadn't been till he'd gotten to Stanford that he'd realized that normal brothers didn't do the things they'd done. He'd carefully studied those memories and chalked them up to the isolationist way they'd grown up. Carefully compartmentalized them so that he could stop thinking about the way that Dean smelled, the way he tasted.

The way he came.

They were both leaning together, in slow motion, like they were underwater. But neither one of them said anything about it. Instead, "You remember the look on Dad's face when he went to do laundry that week and found our clothes?"

This time, the laughter came from Dean. "Oh, hell. I thought he was going to murder us for letting those dry like that. One of the few times we got in trouble for something that mundane. And then you pointed out that it could have been from blood instead, and he just got so quiet. I think he used an entire bottle of Shout on those things."

"The stains never did come out of my shirt." They were so close together that they were breathing each others' air. One of them needed to say something, had to say something. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy," and then Dean's lips were on his, soft and gentle, and Sam stopped caring that neither of them had actually asked.

The kiss seemed to last forever. When Dean's tongue slipped into his mouth, wet and warm velvet against his, he moaned, the tension in his body disappearing. They were both breathing, panting, really, into the kiss, and Sam couldn't think beyond the touch of their mouths.

Dean's hand came up, tracing a light path up his side. Gooseflesh rose in its wake, leaving Sam shivering, until it rested on his face, fingers tangling in his hair. Pulling back from the kiss, Dean studied his face. "Say no, Sam."

"I don't want to." This time, it was Sam who leaned forward those few inches, Sam who slid his tongue into Dean's mouth, tasting toothpaste and sleep and Dean. He mirrored Dean's position, his hand on his cheek, feeling stubble and warmth, short hair winding around his fingers.

Sam moaned, realizing in that moment how much he'd missed the sheer physicality that had been his relationship with his brother in their youth. Ever since Dean had showed up in Stanford, the touching had been little and far between, but now there was no way that Sam was going to stop unless Dean wanted to.

And in the next moment, it became obvious that Dean didn't want to, as he rolled them both so that he was lying on top of Sam. They continued to kiss as Dean's hands ran along his sides and then up his arms, lifting them up and putting them above his head. Pinning them down lightly, he pulled back again. "You sure, Sam?"

Lifting his head, he managed to kiss Dean's chin. "I'm sure."

The only thing separating them now was their boxers, and he could feel how hard Dean was, pressed against his thigh like an iron brand. His hips bucked, and Dean moaned. "Don't, Sammy. Just stay still for me."

It was a struggle, but as Dean's mouth found all the sensitive places on his neck and laid long, open-mouthed kisses on them, he managed to not move. He couldn't stop his mouth, though, and moans and sighs became the sound in the room. When Dean nipped high, right below his jaw, he yelped and then said, "Fuck, yeah, Dean. So good."

Dean pulled back and smiled. "Some things never change - you still like being bitten."

Sam could feel the blood flooding his face. His throat was dry, and he didn't think that he could get any sound out, so he just nodded.

Dean didn't tease, thankfully. He just lowered his head and bit Sam again, a little lower. Sam hooked his fingers under the headboard so that he wouldn't be tempted to move them, and gripped hard as Dean marked his skin with sharp bites.

He was shivering, but in all good ways, as Dean moved over his chest and stomach. He wanted to watch, wanted to stare at Dean as he moved over him, but he couldn't. His eyes fell shut and he clung to the wood under hands with all he had.

When Dean's weight disappeared, though, his eyes flew open and he looked up to see Dean kneeling between his outstretched thighs, hands on his own legs. He was panting as though he'd just run a marathon, and Sam wanted nothing more than to soothe him. "You... you okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to decide where to go next."

Sam closed his eyes, arching his back. "Anywhere, Dean," he whispered.

Dean made a soft sound, then his hands were back, this time sliding over his stomach and down to the elastic of his boxers. "You sure?"

"Just... stop asking, Dean. I'm not going to stop you."

Dean suddenly stood up, leaving cold air in his place, and Sam looked at him curiously. Before he could form the question, though, Dean was tugging his shorts off, and then with one last questioning look, doing the same for Sam's.

Naked, Sam shivered in the cold air, only to be warmed suddenly when Dean laid back down on top of him. "God, I've missed this."

"Mmm hmm..." Dean seemed distracted, and as he thrust lightly against Sam, Sam shut up.

Now there was nothing to get in Dean's way as he worked his way down again, and as he drew closer to Sam's cock, he stopped breathing. Dean had other ideas, though, and moved down so that he could bite at Sam's thigh.

In response, Sam spread his legs wider, giving Dean access to anything he wanted. Even if all he wanted was to tease the ever loving shit out of Sam. Gasping for air, he waited, impatient, for Dean to do something, anything.

That warm, wet tongue found his balls, licking at them softly. Sam whimpered, legs shifting restlessly. The touch was light, so light, and it was going to drive him right out of his mind, in the good way.

Dean chuckled against Sam's skin, and the vibration shot straight through his balls and right up to the top of his head. The rough wood under his hands cut into his palms as he fought the urge to let go and reach down to touch Dean, to pull him up for another kiss. "Please, Dean. Oh, god, please..."

Raising his head, Dean flashed a grin at him. "Begging already, Sammy?"

"Shut up. Bastard."

His mouth was just inches from Sam's cock, and he couldn't help but stare, silently willing Dean to do something. Dean seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, because he blew a stream of cool air over the head. "Is that any way to get me to do what you want?"

Sam bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. "Cocktease."

Dean just arched an eyebrow and stuck out his tongue, touching the tip of it to the shaft. Sam yelped, his hips coming up off the bed at the glancing contact. Dean looked gloriously obscene like that and Sam was forced to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

Only to have them fly open when Dean took the head of his cock in, sucking it hard. Sam no longer cared if he sounded like a moron, or that he was begging. "Please Dean, don't stop, please... Oh, god, so fucking good..." Dean was doing wicked, evil things with his tongue. "Oh, fuck me..."

Dean's mouth disappeared, "Do you want me to?"

It took a second for Sam to connect the dots and draw the pony. He was too busy whimpering over the loss of Dean's mouth to realize at first that he was offering to fuck Sam. When he did, though, Sam thought he just might come.

"God, yes. Been too fucking long, Dean."

The warmth and weight disappeared from his legs, as Dean swung over and started pawing at his bag. When he finally pulled it close enough, he scrabbled through it as Sam took deep breaths, trying to keep himself under control.

"Ah ha!" Dean came up on his knees, a tube clenched in his fist. "Knew I had this in there." He grinned, and Sam couldn't help the smile that split his own face.

"You gonna quit talking and fuck me already?" The smile disappeared off Dean's face, replaced by one of intense focus. Sam shut up in demonstration, spreading his legs in silent invitation.

But when Dean went to lube up his fingers, Sam stopped him with a grab of his hand. "No, Dean. Just fuck me."

"You sure, Sammy? I don't want to hurt you." Dean's focus got even sharper, as if he was trying to read his mind.

Taking the tube out of Dean's hand, Sam opened it and squeezed a small amount on to his hand. Wrapping it around Dean's cock, he spread it on him with firm strokes. "Yeah, I'm really, really sure."

Dean studied his face for a moment longer, then nodded. Pulling at one of Sam's legs, he lifted it over his shoulder and wrapped the other around his waist. As he leaned down over Sam, he bent his head and kissed Sam again.

Sam moaned into his mouth, teasing at his lips and tongue. When Dean's cock pressed against his opening, he moaned even louder, arching his hips and shuddering. Without breaking the kiss, he begged into Dean's mouth. "Please, now, Dean. Please?"

Slowly, Dean pressed into him. It burned, the stretch becoming almost too much, and Sam had to tear his mouth away so that he could pant. It hurt, yeah, but it hurt so fucking good. Dean stopped moving, pulling back just enough to look into Sam's face. "Sam?"

"I-I'm fine, Dean. Just... been a long time..."

Dean nodded and bit his own lips as he moved so slowly. As he slid inside, Sam could have sworn that he could feel every millimeter of it. Finally, though, his hips were flush with Sam, and he froze. Sam could feel the fine sheen of sweat breaking out over Dean's skin as he stayed still. He wanted to tell him to move, to not hold back, but he needed that time to adjust.

The burning eased, and Sam could feel that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach as his body started to respond. "Okay..."

He started to move then, slowly, gently, and Sam had to bite his lip at the emotional response that got. Again - as always - Dean was thinking more about taking care of Sam instead of himself.

With a wordless cry, he arched his back, trying to get Dean to move harder. Dean held back for another moment, and then his eyes fell shut and he started to speed up.

Every stroke passed right over Sam's prostate, his cock pressed between their bodies, and Sam clutched at Dean's shoulders. "Please, please, please..."

Faster, deeper, harder, and Sam was feeling nothing but pleasure, flying high with it. The heat between them built, and Sam wormed one of his hands between them to grip at his cock. Dean moaned at that, and the force behind his thrusts increased.

Sam felt like he was in a positive feedback loop. He could feel it from the top of his head all the way to the soles of his feet, but it was starting to focus, to gather at the base of his spine, twisting and turning and taking Sam to the point of no return.

He let go of his cock, trying to hold back, but it was too late. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Gonna... Oh, fuck, Dean!"

With another cry, he was coming, shaking and shuddering and coming apart. As he fell to pieces, he dimly heard Dean cry out as well, and then he was coming inside of him.

Dean collapsed on top of him, and Sam wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head and relaxing. Dean was trembling, and Sam held him tightly.

"God, I missed you," Dean said, his teeth chattering.

"Shh," Sam said. "I'm here now. Not going anywhere again, I promise."

Gradually. Dean relaxed, but when he tried to roll off, Sam held him still. "It's all good."

"Dude, I'm too heavy."

Sam couldn't help the smile. "You ain't heavy - you're my brother."


End file.
